There are just two of them left until my baby is a full grown man that goes to bars and college.

OK. Maybe not. I have 2 weeks left that I didn’t have with him last year. Two weeks until Evan starts to roll his eyes over stuff I show him because he’s BEEN THERE, DONE THAT before.

“Looky at the pretty colors of autumn. See how the leaves are changing color?”

“Duh, Mom. Saw it last year!”

And don’t say, “YAY! Evan’s almost as year old. w00T!” Because if I was excited and happy about it I would be all LOLzies up in this bitch. But I’m not. No LOLs just some big, fat 😦 s. 😦s all around. Because not only will Evan practically be living on his own in a couple weeks, but I won’t be a mother to a baby anymore. The mother with the tinsy sleeping infant in Target will smuggly say her daughter is just 5 days old and she won’t even bother to ask me how old Evan is because HE’S OBVIOUSLY AN ADULT. You loose smugginess after your baby turns one people and you all know how much I LOVE MY SMUGGIES!

So let’s turn back the clock shall we? Let’s look back a year and she what I was arrogantly doing at the time when I thought I had a month and a half before the baby was born when I really had just 14 days. LET US LOOK DENIAL IN THE FACE.

I sent an email to my coworkers with pictures of newborn Lilah who was born just days before.

I was on my weekly Tuesday/Friday doctor schedule and tearing up over my modest amount of vacation time remaining.

Wayne and I had our last birthing class. We learned infant CPR. The previous classes were deemed “the-other-word-for-homosexual” by my lovely husband who announced it in his “quiet voice” during pretend contractions. THANK THE LORD GOODNESS that I didn’t have that labor stuff because Wayne was the only husband in class not to rub my back while we practiced relaxation techniques and then bitched about how much his knees hurt while in various labor positions… (are we getting the irony here?)

I was writing a mundane blog for MySpace telling the world that I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT and worrying that:

I had less than 1,000 hours to go (in reality I only had 336 hours).

the nursery was not done. (SURPRISE FORMER SELF! The nursery was JUST COMPLETED. You’re welcome).

the baby was going to go to daycare. Wayne and I were seriously thinking about me staying home. (Oh silly FOOLS! SURPRISE FORMER SELF! Wayne was laid off most of 2009! Way to think about stopping your only income!)

I was having too many Braxton-Hicks contractions and my finger tips were getting all hurty from the blood-letting.

We were name-less. Wayne was suggestion-less. I was name-full. Other family members were suggesting-other-names-and-not-liking-our-name-full. Things were about to get bloody. (SURPRISE YET AGAIN FORMER SELF! You’re going to have to look at Wayne all confused while your insides are hanging out and the baby is taking his first breath when the doctor asks the baby’s name. You’ll be like, OH YEAH! HE NEEDS A NAME!)

OK… enough of that. I’ll continue to wig out on my own time and spare you yours. Until my next freakout of course that I’ll have to share the with internets OF COURSE. And when he turns that year number when he’s no longer a month number and you are unable to locate me, I will either be rocking in the corner of a closed, dark closet or replacing my birth control pills with sugar pills and practicing my surprise face.